


Seretonia

by ryu-no-hakai (PrincessNiallxHoran)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 03:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessNiallxHoran/pseuds/ryu-no-hakai
Summary: Genji hasn't so much as spared a look at Jack-What-A-Good-Boy Morrison since he's been taken into Blackwatch. The commander is a goodie-goodie with too much heart and too little backbone. But when something is planted, the Shimada can't seem to ignore the honed focus he develops. Jack is just lonely, right?





	Seretonia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosisalwayshere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosisalwayshere/gifts).



> This is a (LONG OVERDUE) gift to my Hallowed-Sparrow Birb. <3 I loved writing this. I'm sorry it really doesn't compare to your beautiful art, but I hope you love it all the same!

It’s crisp and cool that morning -- or at least it probably is. Genji struggles to search through the numbness and the wires to locate any sort of physical sensation related to hot or cold since his reawakening. He supposes that’s what comes with being engineered to do the dirty deeds for everyone else; with becoming something akin to weaponry. No matter. It would come into its usefulness in a few years, when he’s sure he can pin his brother’s throat beneath his blade with absolutely no chance of failure.

There is no one in the train car back to Barcelona with him besides Morrison. It’s alright by him -- the farm boy doesn’t speak much, so he doesn’t complain. Jack seems content, nestling deep somewhere in a blue knit sweater and a thin golden scarf. From what Genji understands, the winters are pretty brutal where the Overwatch commander is from. It seems fair that a day with frost and the threat of early snowfall garners only a pullover. Even so, seeing someone of such a high ranking outside of his department in something so…  _ Domestic _ … Feels wrong on a few levels. Something private he wasn’t supposed to see.

“Aren’t you cold?” The gruff voice startles Genji out of his thoughts, and he chances a glance at the tee shirt he’s wearing, more for pomp and circumstance and the convenience of hiding away jutting wires than any practical reason. It’s not like he has any semblance of shame remaining at this point in the journey of his life.

“No.” It comes out short - curt. In his opinion he doesn’t need to expound on anything -- it isn’t like Jack is unaware of the biological fallacies of his companion. He knows as many of the ins and outs as Genji does, which are admittedly few and far between, and there is no use in speculating as far as the cyborg is concerned. They also know that Moira O’Deorain was in charge of his reconstruction, and answers would be hard to come by whether they asked for them or not. What’s worse, is that Jack has freely admitted to not trusting her as far as he could throw her pre SEP. Whether or not Genji cares for his opinion is irrelevant. The point remains that despite how much of a washed up goody-goody Morrison really is, it doesn’t nullify his intel or gut instinct. He’s the commander of the program for a reason, after all.

“Seems like this shit ain’t gettin’ warmer anytime soon.” Jack continues idly, his fingers twining and untangling where they rest in his lap. Perhaps the Shimada was wrong in assuming that the ride was going to be quiet. If Genji’s face had been more visible, the commander would have gotten more than just arched eyebrows -- a positive scowl worms across his features. The Shimada finds no interest in small talk. Not about the country’s GDP, not about extended family, and certainly not about the damn weather.

“We are approaching the winter season. I should think not.” Genji can’t figure out why he feels possessed to say anything at all, honestly. The best way to silence someone else is to remain silent yourself.  _ Don’t feed into it _ . His fears are realized as Jack shifts into a more comfortable position and inhales to add on to his previous thought.

“I used to love the cold.”

_ Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. _

“What changed?”

_ Shut your damn mouth _ .

“It’s just… Not the same when you don’t have someone to huddle under the blankets with.”

Genji pauses, eyes narrowing just slightly at the confession. He readily admits it isn’t what he expects -- all in all he would have anticipated something cheesy about ‘when you’re old you react to the cold differently’, or that ‘building snowmen just doesn’t give you that burning accomplishment it did when you were a kid’. It seems odd and almost unrealistic to view Morrison as a sexual creature who yearns for human contact the same as everyone else. Now that Genji takes the time to reflect back on it himself, this time a few years prior he’d spent almost every chilly night wrapped up in a faceless someone, warm, safe, and satisfied. Warmth. What a joke.

“Do you miss it?” He asks gently, his tone low and curious, almost dangerous at the same time. The same way he sounds when he’s gathering intel from a target who is mere seconds away from meeting a volatile end involving too-sharp knives and lonely, too-chilled countertops.

“Don’t we all? None of us got time for that nowadays. In my prime in the military though? A night alone was a rare thing.” Jack rests his head back against the seat and shuts his eyes, giving Genji an ample moment to look over the commander’s profile, noting the smooth cheekbones and strong bridge of his nose, how his brow sits heavy and his forehead is troubled with years of stress and worry. Regardless, the years hadn’t necessarily been unkind to him. Somehow he manages to tear his eyes away before Jack can come back to the present.

The conversation dies there, somewhere between complete and open ended and it takes a lot of effort for Genji to push his mind away from it. Within the hour they arrive at their station and share a cab ride home. Jack covers the fair -- “ _ You’ll get me later _ ”, and they go their separate ways.

Keeping Jack from the forefront of his mind is easier said than done over the next few days, and when it boils down to the barest of elements it becomes impossible to rid himself of unwelcome thoughts of the commander altogether. Genji finds that he can edge Jack from his thoughts for a few hours at a time before visions of him float back where they don’t belong, hovering behind his eyes where they fester and trouble him: Jack Morrison with an oversized bed fit for a military official, unable to fill the empty space despite his size -- Jack Morrison with those worried frown lines and lonely blue eyes focusing in on him where he stands in the doorway of his imagination.

Genji swallows them each time; returns to training, to McCree’s stupid stories, to Reyes telling him to  _ focus, damnit _ . Considering that Genji hasn’t given more than a spare thought here and there over the blond bastard, he shouldn’t really struggle so hard to keep his mind off him. Regardless, each time he closes his eyes he’s met with striking blue and muddied blond and a passion in his stomach that he hasn’t felt since the day he let go of his last breath for the first time.

The biggest thing is that Genji isn’t necessarily fantasizing solely for the sake of fantasizing. Certainly that’s part of it -- a major part, really -- but it also has something to do with the forlorn tone accompanying the admittance of  _ loneliness _ . Of course Morrison hadn’t come right out to say it. Much like everything that comes out of Jack’s mouth, it’s nuanced and thoughtful. When all the pieces come onto the board, he isn’t where he is in life by being blunt -- he’s tactical; a negotiator.

Genji finds himself in a similar position, particularly since their conversation on the train from one drop point to another. He’s realizing how much an obsession might have bitten something intrinsic from his insides. He has admittedly not thought about the comfort of another person in years, rather how best to dismantle the structure and foundation of his boyhood -- and yet he is suddenly dwelling on the safety and happiness of the Overwatch commander who he hadn’t spared a single thought for before that moment.

His fantasies are never overblown. There is no white shag carpet and dull, burning fire that is reaching to the last embers to stay lit while Jack sinks into him where they’ve rolled off the sofa. They don’t have wine or snacks and they certainly don’t mince too many words. That being said, they aren’t animalistic, either. His mind does not allow him to rush at picking Jack apart as fast as he can; instead he pulls each little string until the man can no longer withhold himself. Neither have time for the little pleasantries and useless wooing, but he’s not planning this for the sole purpose of sating his own needs, either.

When had he started to  _ plan _ something?

//

Seeing Jack once he’s admired how he imagines the man to look under his clothes is something almost nostalgic for Genji. It brings him back to crisp mornings in Hanamura when his voice is changing and his bones ache, and he goes to the local cafe for coffee for his father and brother when they want something a little different than the usual coffee from the service staff. It brings him to the first moment he traces the outline of the cashier’s firm breasts and imagines what the peak of her nipples would look like if he licks and pinches just right. It brings him back to using the bathroom before he picks up his order to tuck up his erection so the other patrons can’t see how he is literally growing up in front of them.

Picturing Jack this way is nostalgic, but  _ worse _ , because now Genji knows what to do with those bits and pieces. He knows that the V cut of Morrison’s hips must start high and trail deep. He knows that the outline of those sinfully tight uniform pants suggests the man is sporting a solid six inches soft, and due to it, he hides behind his visor when they pass each other in the hall because Genji Shimada doesn’t have time to consider what it would be like to squeeze those hips between his thighs while he rides out this feverish obsession around Morrison’s dripping cock. He has already allotted the time he needs to fantasize to the lonely evenings, where he tugs himself to blushing, panting completion with blue eyes on his lips and that stupid, farm boy’s name on his tongue.

//

The day Genji finally decides to act, he’s surprisingly relaxed. He’s aware that Jack will be returning from a mission that evening and that all he really has to do is set the scene, catch him before he makes his way to his quarters and insert himself to begin seduction. The only regret he has is that he’s not who he used to be. He can’t flutter his eyelashes and giggle at opportune jokes just to slide in close to a broad side, the same as he can’t buy them milkshakes and “ _ oops, only one was made before the machine broke! But don’t worry, we can share! _ ” It’s alright though -- because at the end of the day, Genji is pretty convinced that neither of them are looking for the flirty playboy he was as a young man -- they aren’t interested in the transparency of his actions floating before pathetically physical intentions, especially when the goal is to satisfy  _ loneliness _ .

Though he supposes that’s only if Jack is equally as interested. What’s the worst that could happen? Not being able to look the commander in the eye again? It wasn’t like he’s done that frequently before now, so he doesn’t have much to lose, really. 

“Genji?” The voice tugs him from his reverie where he stands at the commander’s door, eyes narrowing in on startled blue ones that leave him suddenly questioning his relaxed confidence. It doesn’t show, naturally, his face remaining just as neutral as it always has, thanks to the training that left him both stronger and more guarded than he’d ever been. He lifts a hand to his jawline, fingers tracing the familiar divots and switches just in front of his ear to press the button that would expose his scarred lips. Jack does not seem perturbed in the slightest, more so interested in the uncharacteristic unveiling. Genji can almost feel the way the commander eyes his exposed skin, and for another moment, the Shimada is nostalgic, that familiar excitement rolling inside before he quiets it.

“Commander Morrison.” Genji answers, tipping his head and reveling in the cool air along the too-soft skin of the lower half of his face, almost raw from the constant coverage. He would really have to consider Angela’s offer to look over what Moira had done to him -- this state of oversensitivity where his protective plating lays is a bit overwhelming once he’s bared to the world. Somehow it doesn’t deter him from wondering what Jack’s lips would feel like on him, risk of overstimulation or not. The commander shifts from foot to foot almost uneasily for a moment before he’s shaking his hands out at his sides. He looks nervous, and neither of them miss when he flicks his tongue out to swipe over the swell of his bottom lip.

“Can I help you?” Jack’s tone wavers only ever so slightly, betraying his uncertainty and letting his junior in on the sensations bubbling below his surface. Genji doesn’t answer immediately. He knows how to create tension, how to draw on emotions until the other is nervous and twitching under his stare, which had only become more useful after his battle with his brother. If he had anything to thank Hanzo for, it was the ability to create a severe situation with nothing more than his gaze and a well placed tilt of his head. The Shimada let his eyes scan deliberately up and down Jack’s form before they settled back on those eyes that seemed to widen in a very sudden and clear understanding. There was no turning away once he’d made up his mind, and he reached out to his side slowly to press the entry button on the commander’s door, hearing it whirr open behind him without flinching or shifting.

“I thought I could help you, instead.” He sounds as sure as he feels, confident in that  _ should Jack agree _ , he could soothe some of that ache in both of them.

The tension is tangible as Jack hesitates, fingers now twitching slightly at his sides before he’s swallowing and taking a few particularly deliberate steps toward the Shimada. It’s only a moment before Genji is dwarfed and trapped by a much larger stature as the bulk of Morrison’s body is mirroring his own, a wide hand flattening on the wall by his head.

“Is this from our conversation on the train?” It suddenly seems as though all the nervousness from his commander is bleeding away, leaving something almost predatory in its wake. Even so Jack has left ample room for Genji to sidestep, if he so chooses, and the younger has taken adequate note of the offer.

“And if it is?” Genji admittedly doesn’t intend for it to come out sounding like a challenge. He doesn’t want to make it something aggressive, something severe, but Jack doesn’t seem terribly off-put. In fact, a small smirk coils across the man’s lips, exposing the jutting tip of his canine on the left side. His free hand rises, curling along the smooth metal of Genji’s jaw and allowing his thumb to tease over the scarred flesh of his cheek. The agent doesn’t have time to worry how the divots in his flesh must feel because Jack doesn’t give him the hint to do so to begin with. Morrison’s gaze is trained now on his eyes, looking for any flicker of uncertainty before he’s running that gentle hand down the curve of the ninja’s jaw to his neck, over the warm expanse of skin that still remained. 

“If it is, then I hope you know what you’re getting yourself roped into, Shimada…”

The answer has Genji nearly thumming, and his commander is checking the hallway, ensuring that no one would see him as he laid a hand at a firm hip, guiding his best friend’s ward into his room with little more than a quick turn and a press of a button to ensure they were locked within.

From then on out, everything moves so fast. Jack’s lips are on him and there’s a cold wall pressing into his shoulder blades where he’s been forced, but Genji feels nothing but fire. It’s been years since he’s felt a mouth mashing to his own, no matter how overwhelming and borderline painful the sensation has become. The assault on his tender skin has him whining, letting out sweet little sounds he hasn’t let loose since the first time Kyohei from Okamura prefecture had stretched him on supple fingers before gliding home. Genji can’t keep his thoughts straight, arms raising to ground himself around the broad shoulders of his commander, urging more pressure on his stinging skin.

Jack has more hands than he once thought possible. The man is feeling every part of him, so starving and desperate that he seems incapable of leaving anything to be explored later. He’s stroking the Shimada’s sides, grabbing at his hips, tracing where metal meets skin and it’s explosive. Genji is losing more and more of the control in the situation with each passing second, raw lips trembling and tender skin quivering around bolts and prosthetics in ways that he thought they’d never be able to again.

“Shimada,” Jack murmurs, and he swears where the lips move against him must be on fire, “Genji, is this what you want?” There are hands cupping at his ass now, one of the few bits and pieces left mostly unaltered by both the battle and Moira’s reconstruction. There’s a moment where Genji debates on answering when he decides that his actions speak much louder than any words he could utter. He grinds his hips back, pressing more supple flesh into those hands and eliciting an excited murmur against his lips.

Jack seems to take it for what it is -- Genji’s version of affirmative consent -- and guides the younger from the wall to the bed, toppling his underling backwards onto it. Genji’s eyes are wide, his breath sharp inside burning lungs but he’s been denied this excitement for so long, his cock straining against taut armor that keeps him painfully confined. Above him, Jack stands disheveled, his jacket askew and blond hair mussed almost comically. At least, it would be if his blue eyes weren’t on fire and his hands weren’t fumbling over familiar fabric to expose scarred, corded muscle to the cool air.

Genji refuses to undress more than necessary. He’s already stinging and raw from Jack’s assault on his new skin and he’s loathe to regret the experience entirely. Instead he hooks his fingers deftly into the divots and latches of his intricate armor and exposes the most tender parts of himself with rapid clicks and hissing steam. Jack watches him as he works, eyes tracing the soft flesh and bobbing cock in interest, his fingers tracing to touch along the underside once it’s free. Genji has never put much thought to the fact that the region between his thighs has been left mostly undestroyed until this moment, when where he expects pain and stinging, he instead shudders in absolute delight.

How long it’s been!

Jack stutters in his movements, his bed partner’s sudden trembling and arching has been more of a reaction than he’s gotten thus far and therefore something startling and to be treasured. Genji finds himself prone for a moment, his arms raised up over his head where he lays and his chest bobbing with his eager breaths as he scans over the commander’s expression and the desire laden across his face.

“Is that good?” The voice is gruffer, deeper with desire and Genji preens at the fact that he can make it happen -- can affect the outwardly impassive, charismatic Cassanova in such a way. He nods in response, allowing Jack the knowledge that it’s him that has the cyborg shivering, and it’s all desired more than he can possibly understand. Morrison teases thick digits along his inner thighs and under the weight of his cock then back up, teasing through the dripping tip and then returns down, slicking the way to his sack where Genji almost automatically spreads to allow him access.

“And we’re so eager,” Jack keens, mapping what Genji hides between his thighs with critical baby blues that are nothing but raging command, “no one has touched you like this since, have they?”

Genji agrees with a shake of his head. Not since his best friend Makoto a few days before his run in will blue steel and roaring Shimada spirits so shrill in his ears he’s sure they bled. Warm fingers trace along him in his memories just as Jack’s are now, and he lets out a soft breath as he flutters under the untouched entrance. For a moment he’s not in Jack’s bed, rather in his friend’s in Hanamura, hot in the dirty bachelor pad the man couldn’t afford to cool in the summer. He’s home and romping and unaware -- no one knows where he is except for his personal guard who he’s bribed with one too many blow jobs to keep silent. 

“You still with me, Genji?”

He snaps back, realizing he’s staring at the ceiling with more attention than he ever gives in a meeting. Jack is between his thighs, propping each up with one of his own and holding a small mostly filled bottle of KY in one hand. In a second it’s changing, less heady and eager and more intimate. There’s a large hand covering his cheek and the commander is seeking his eyes, as if honing in for a lie or discomfort.

Genji pauses, eyes refocusing and tongue tracing his lips, enduring and following the sensation of sting across the width of them, and then he’s leaning up to press their mouths back together, stealing something slower that has Jack’s muscles untensing above him. He hums there, only drawing away when he needs air more than he needs to reassure.

Lips find him again, wet slippery fingers pressing insistently against him until they’re breeching his insides, stroking along velvet walls and opening him up with assured, deep strokes.

Genji takes it better than anticipated. It’s been years to say the least but he adapts to it like breathing. He lets his tension escape, his hips rolling easily and his lips slowing when they kiss. He lets himself go, drifts away again to the sensation of Jack’s free hand feeling over the chestplate of his armor, hesitating slightly before he’s withdrawing his thick fingers and wiping away the lube on the firm inside of his thigh.

“Are you lonely too, Shimada?” The voice startles him, lost in the sensations of being spread and probed dizzying him in such a beautiful, nostalgic way. He nods, his lips parted and eyes narrowed, cheeks warm, and for a second Jack almost appears fond. But then he’s lining himself up and steadying Genji with yet another kiss before he’s nudging forward, pressing past the tight ring and in little by little, inch by inch.

Genji digs his fingertips against the meat of the commander’s shoulders and centers himself, his breathing -- he stretches like he’s made for it and before long their hips are pressed up taut together; aligned and seathed. Jack takes a moment to tuck their foreheads close, slick and hot, and lets out a breathless sound that sounds like praise against the tender flesh of Genji’s mouth.

“Jack,” it’s warmer than he anticipated, warmer than he’s been by a large margin to anyone aside from the walking talking country music commercial, “you can move -- I am less breakable than you might believe.”

It’s not an answer, really. Not to the question Jack has asked a few moments prior. But it’s enough that the commander is chuckling and slowly sitting up, balancing his hands on the synthetic flesh of his underling’s calves and rocking his hips slowly back and forth, barely withdrawing a few inches at a time before he’s sliding back home.

Jack is louder during sex than he Genji would have guessed. He thought there would be fluff, of course. Morrison always seems like the kind of person who would worship his partner, but it’s more than that. It’s as though he wants Genji to know each time something feels  _ good _ . When he shifts just slightly, there’s a new soft noise in turn. When he drags out to the divot below the head of his cock and is enveloped again, he’s letting out a stream of hot air over Genji’s tender throat. Genji in comparison is quiet. There’s no doubt he’s enjoying himself. The flush that creeps over his scarred cheekbones and the thick, leaking shaft on his belly is enough to suggest he’s in the moment, eager and satisfied with his position below the commander, but his voice doesn’t betray it.

It’s when Jack starts whispering praise against his skin that Genji begins to unravel.

“-- Giving yourself to me -- such a gift, Shimada -- you don’t understand -- so beautiful -- know just what I need -- but what do  _ you _ need -- fuck, Genji --”

It’s a different game when Genji can hear the way he’s somehow taken Jack apart, how he begs to know what the man beneath him needs and how best to satisfy him. The hands on his calves get tighter, pushing up and forward until the Shimada is effectively bent in half, more energy behind each thrust squeezing the breath from his lungs. It’s harder to swallow his sounds now, weak grunts squeezing past his throat as Jack adjusts even further, stretching out obscenely long, strong legs to lay into the kid properly.

“This is it, isn’t it?” the tone has Genji’s eyes flicking open, wondering when he’s shut them, locking on Jack’s which appear nearly crazed, honed and focused, “you got a hard time feelin’, need it up a notch?” He can’t respond before the tempo changes, the commander’s strong hips rising and falling brutally, filling him harder and faster than he’s willing to bet that he’s really ever been. It has him crying out, hands scrabbling for Jack’s shoulders to bury his nails in desperation.

The reaction fuels the man above him who growls and continues his thrusts with just as much vigor, not so much as a sweat breaking out on his forehead. Genji on the other hand has begun to tremble. Yes, temperatures are hard to sense sometimes, but Jack is inside somewhere totally unaffected by Moira’s experimentations, and everything is right as rain where he’s speared on a throbbing cock. But it’s good, because even if he  _ can _ feel here, the force makes up for what he can’t everywhere else.

He doesn’t realize when he’s crying out, when he’s tangling his fingers into blond hair and letting his jaw hang lax. He doesn’t notice when Jack releases his knee and wraps a fist around his cock instead, or when he’s nosing at the curve of his jaw, biting against soft, supple flesh there. Genji feels a tremor up his spine, conflicting sensations making the experience more intense, headier and too much and too little all at once.

“Fuck, Kitten -- you sing so beautifully when you finally let go--!” 

The nickname sends a final fire in his belly, molten hot and eager to earn more praise before he loses his opportunity. Genji pulses white hot onto his belly, overtaken by his sudden orgasm and the way that Jack hovers over him so closely, hips working overtime and snapping with intent past his clutching hole.

“Let it all out, Shimada, give it to me --!” The slick squelching noises of Jack’s come covered hand pumping over his pulsing cock is embarrassing, but it has him digging his steel toes into the mattress. He’s squirming and twisting, and Morrison is beginning to growl low in his throat, aggressive, possessive, and claiming as he tucks his fingers into Genji’s black hair and tugs his head back to bare his throat.

“Where do you want me?” Jack’s voice is rushed and desperate, and now that Genji is coming down a bit he can feel how the man’s hips are beginning to stutter, losing their rhythm and force as he nears his completion.

Genji can barely find his voice to utter “ _ inside _ ” with the desperation of a man who wants the sensations to  _ stop _ and  _ go _ and  _ remain  _ and  _ cease _ . Jack takes the hint, burying his teeth sharp and firm into the meat of the Shimada’s left shoulder before he’s holding himself deep, stretching soft guts open even further and extracting a borderline pained whine from the contorted body below. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, overstimulated in so many forms that he wouldn’t be able to find the words to describe the experience even if asked, and for a brief moment he entertains the thought that he might come a second time, just from the unbelievable pressure of the commander inside him.

Jack makes it clear when he’s coming. His hips gyrate ever so softly with each pulse of thick white that he deposits within, and as the ninja’s arms latch around a strong neck he feels a vibration of a growl against the bitten flesh. Once the elder is finished, he withdraws slowly, and the mess that was left inside the smaller floods out in embarrassing waves. Genji wants to be self conscious initially -- he wants to have some sort of shame in that he’s fucked his boss’ co-commander in chief -- but he just can’t. Instead he leans in, presses his metallic jaw to the other’s cheek and nuzzles there for a short moment until Jack has caught his breath once again.

He whispers his thanks, mother tongue and all, and the commander can only offer a short, spent chuckle.

“Thought you were doing this for me, Shimada... “

“Perhaps I needed it just as much as you, orokana otoko.”  _ Foolish man _ .

Jack doesn’t understand it, but he smiles nonetheless and settles in closer, peppering Genji’s cheeks in soft kisses before he lets the man’s hips rest back down onto the mattress. They clean up and, at the commander’s insistence, retire to the bed, covers drawn over their waists with corded arms warming synthetic flesh and cool metal.

He can only assume Morrison believes he’s sleeping when the last few words escape his lips.

“Bed isn’t so lonely after all... now is it…?”


End file.
